Two Red Birds
by PeechTao
Summary: Clint, Banner, Tony, Natasha, and Pepper all make a trip to the mall to restock on some necessities. While the men head to Red Robin for some much needed lunch (and fight over lemons in their drinks) their status as Avengers catches up with them. Who are the gun-wielding men after Bruce Banner? And to what lengths with Tony and Clint go to keep the Hulk from being unleashed?
1. Chapter 1

**Two Red Birds**

_By, Peech Tao_

Technically he could blame all of this on Natasha. Or Pepper. Or Tony in that exact order. Firstly, his mind deduced, it was Natasha's fault for needed to go out to the mall. Why walking up Fifth Avenue wasn't good enough for her, Clint could not understand. But, whatever. They went to the mall. Pepper suggested that she too would come along. Even though Natasha was a trained killer and technically falsified her information to get hired at Stark industries in the first place, that didn't mean Pepper didn't still consider Natasha and her girlfriends who could spend a day shopping and not feel weird about it. Lastly, Tony's intense need to bring Banner along rounded out what was going to be one of the worst afternoons in Clint's life.

Clint never intended to follow the girls to all the stores they fluttered in and out of while simultaneously reminding them how beautiful they were. So instead he struck out with Banner and Tony. At least for a little while. Then Tony began his I am Iron Man shovanistic stunts for every human being within iPhone-camera distance which was plenty reason for both Banner and Clint to move on.

They found a relatively sedate corner of Macy's in which to rifle through new set of clothes. Both men were in dire need of updating their wardrobe stacks. Clint, coming off a three week trip to Delhi ended up leaving the majority of his clothes behind between some local kids he found a soft spot for and the maggot infested dog shelter he bedded down in for five days before his evac arrived.

Banner thumbed absently threw the hangers of shirts and the walls of pants. He had grown used to the idea of never getting too attached to anything he decided to wear. After all, he was in some strange way shopping for two. His second just happened to be six times his size.

"Going for something besides black?" Dr. Banner asked off-handedly.

Clint looked up from where he squatted next to a stack of cubes, rifling through jean sizes. "Contrary to popular belief, I sometimes imagine I have an off switch." Clint replied. He looked up from his search and pushed his sun glasses on top of his head. "You going for something outside the big and tall?"

"Somehow I don't think spending money on an Armani suit would be the wisest purchase with my SHIELD allowance."

Clint snorted and pulled out the size he was looking for. He unfolded the jeans and held them up to his waist. He wasn't big on trying things on before he bought them. After all, it was likely these particular jeans would survive a grand two months before they were covered in blood or gamma radiated backwash.

"You going to avoid spilling petri dishes on this pair?" Clint asked.

Bruce pulled out a shirt he actually liked the color of. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"I really liked those jeans." Clint almost complained. "Whatever. I like that shirt. You gonna get it?"

Bruce pulled it off the rack and held it up. "I actually do like it."

They stared at the shirt for a minute indecisively. When the moment was over, Bruce ended up putting the shirt back on the rack.

"I'd feel bad destroying it." He said off-handedly. Clint agreed, but grabbed the shirt back, checked the size, then put it over his arm with his new pair of jeans. At the look he received from Bruce, Clint could only shrug.

They'd agreed to meet up with Tony again around two at the in-mall Red Robin on the ground level. As it was broaching one thirty already, they decided to finish with Clint's check out and start over toward the restaurant. On their way Banner remembered he needed a pack of socks and threw them in with Clint's things after forking over a five dollar bill.

Clint carried the bag out; grateful that both he and Bruce continued to go unnoticed by the general populace. With the advent of the digital age it was difficult to find somewhere in the world that did not recognize one of the Avengers. Traveling in a grouped was even more of a risk, but sometimes it was unavoidable. This particular day it seemed Tony had made enough of a spectacle of himself to attacked all the attention to himself which left the others in a relative peace. Bringing Thor along, that would have been the supreme mistake.

Clint's phone just as Bruce and he made it to the lower level escalator. He checked the number before deciding to answer it. He mouthed Natasha's name to Bruce's curious look.

"Hey, yeah we're meeting up downstairs with Tony. Lunch. Uh, huh. I don't care what you got in Victoria's Secret if you won't at least show it to me. Ok, don't get snippy, I apologize. Of course I didn't mean that, what guy wouldn't want to know what panties you're packing? Are you coming to lunch? No? Yeah, I understand. No, I agree, picking out Yankee Candle scents takes skill. Oh, I'm sorry, Littlest Soap Shop then. What about Pepper? Ok, I'll tell him." Clint held his hand to the receiver and spoke over his shoulder to Bruce. "Girl's just finished filling up their bags fully of lacy underwear and all she wants to tell me about is how nice her new soap smells. I mean . . .really? Oh, Pepper says she can make it to lunch. She's not hungry, they went someplace. Cinnabun or something."

"What? No, I was talking to Bruce. I got an outfit, he got some socks so far. Look, I live life out of a rucksack, I don't need a lot of clothes for that. I'll make sure he gets something. Yeah, look, were here and I'm hanging up. Have fun. No, I didn't mean that either."

Clint hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

"You sure have a way with them." Banner commented.

"Hulk doesn't seem to mind it." Clint snickered.

"Come to think of it, this love affair between you and my other half has strange written all over it."

"It's not strange! It's called mutual respect of persons. He gets the fact that I give him reign to do whatever he wants – fine, within reason—and he gets to throw me through the air, or plant me on the top of buildings or something. It satisfies his King Kong complex."

Bruce shook his head, smiling. "Regardless, your touch, whatever it is, works wonders on Agent Romanov's sunny side."

"Yeah, sure I do. Apparently Natasha is ordering me to make sure you buy some new clothes. You know what that's called? Being whipped, is what it's called."

Clint pulled open the door to Red Robin and waited for Bruce to walk in before he followed behind He dropped Tony's name with the waitress to find that Stark had already arrived and was waiting in the corner for them. Bruce slid in across from Tony with Clint pressing in beside him. The restaurant bustled by to Clint's left while the wall to the right was paneled in faux red oak and sports memorabilia. It was definitely more up to Steve's speed then the three who currently occupied the booth.

"Fancy digs, Stark. Will you even eat anything on this menu?" Bruce asked smiling. He knew as well as anyone Stark's distaste for poorly handled foodstuffs.

Tony shrugged. "Steak. Steak is safe. Full of calorie-clogging grease sure to kill me faster than the shrapnel cutting into my chest."

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. When the waitress showed up, Clint was the first to go simple and order a cheeseburger. It was a little early to drink so he went for straight water. One Tony's suggestion he avoided the potential salmonella that would have ensued should he have agreed to have a lemon in his water. Strange how Clint survived to this point without him?

Bruce wasn't much in a hungry mood, but he went for fish and chips anyway, expecting to pick around his plate and mine.

Tony went with a soup, he didn't even ask for the flavor but instead agreed instantly to whatever the soup of the day was and a basket of fries. He asked for a glass of weed grass and carrot juice which . . .surprisingly? . . . the restaurant did not have available. After a little him-haw about having it "his way" he agreed to a cranberry juice. With lemon.

When the waitress retreated Clint stared a pair of daggers across the table at him.

"You know, Clint, if I don't express concern over your health, then who will?" Tony said.

"I'm taking your lemon." Clint replied deadpan.

"You can try. But you will, most likely, fail. Because I can scream. And biting I could be reduced to using should the occasion call for it." He sat back in the booth and folded his arms behind his neck. He was wearing a new suit-jacket and if Clint wasn't mistaken, those kicks he spied beneath the table were still wearing labels.

"Steal yourself a wardrobe?" Hawkeye asked. The drinks arrived and after an instant table scuffle, Clint was victorious in the theft of Bruce Banner's lemon. Satisfied, Tony picked up the conversation again as if they hadn't left off.

"Can I help it if my fans dote on me and just happen to work at the precise places I shop for new clothes?"

"You know, I think you could help that." Bruce interjected.

Clint laughed in his straw.

Tony's phone went off and the table was full for a while of the billionaire's one-sided conversation with Pepper about what scent he preferred for their mutual bathroom. As Clint stirred his drink, he remembered thinking how funny it was that Tony was so involved in exactly what sort of floral undertones he could and could not tolerate and from there proceeded to discuss what color soaps would best match the fung-shei of their bathroom drapery.

For a little while at least, Clint was lost to those moments of domesticity that will only exist between two lovers like Tony and Pepper. Listening to them banter was like a peak into the only normalcy they must experience as a couple.

Enjoying their moment of mutual bliss was short lived. There was some commotion to their left. A row of waitresses filed down an aisle, clapping all the way with a sparkler topping a slice of cheesecake. Off in the middle of the restaurant someone began singing Happy Birthday. Clint watched them for a minute, wondering if he should on a whim subject Tony to the same punishment.

"What was that? Yeah, Red—Pepper you're not making any sense. I thought you were—what makes you think-?"

Clint turned back to Tony. The conversation had obviously taken a strange turn and Tony's face was the epitome of just that. Pepper's voice was nearly loud enough to hear across the table. The birthday goers to their left finished their singing and clapping. Now they were party-popping like madmen. Surely half the restaurant was going to be covered by confetti by the time they were done.

The looks on Tony's face slowly changed from confusion, to genuine concern and lastly panic. His eyes fixed on someplace beyond their table as suddenly he got up and sunk back down. He grabbed the bottom of the table, trying his hardest to upend it, but given most of these restaurants nailed their tables down he didn't have any luck at that.

Clint flipped his head to the front door to see what Tony had easily picked up on given his seat opposite of the archer. From the far left and directly behind Clint's seat came a slew of armed gunman. The agent's body reacted automatically, even though it took a while for his mind to catch up.

It didn't make sense. Armed gunman, even petty thieves, just didn't show up at local Red Robins and begin killing people. This was a mall. That sort of oddity just did not fit, no matter how hard Clint tried to wrap his brain around it.

* * *

sorry, trying to break this into more manageable chapters


	2. Chapter 2

Author Note: this was meant to be a one-shot, so updates will be quick! Only 3 Chapters!

**Two Red Birds**

**Chapter 2**

One thing was glaringly obvious like an elephant trying to squeeze into a corset. If Bruce Banner got angry enough, or if he got hit by a single bullet, then this simple day out was going to turn into a huge game of reign-the-hulk-in. Given the realization, Clint's will for survival changed swiftly into being full body armor for Bruce. He tucked the Doctor's head down beside the winged back to the booth and folded his upper half over Banner's back. Even hunkered down, the three were sitting ducks.

Tony managed to wedge himself beneath the table. He used his free arms to grab Bruce's legs.

"I'm not trying to be dirty, just get down here!" he shouted above the approaching gunfire.

Bruce slid down, trapping himself halfway between the back of the booth and the table stand. Obviously whoever designed the place had intended on two grown men ducking for cover beneath its tables. Three men was too much to hope for.

"You packing heat?" Bruce called up to Clint.

By way of answer, Clint pulled his hand gun from a quick-holster under the tail of his shirt. The gunman weren't offering much to shoot at, but ricochets dropped one and seemed to wound a second.

"Yup, He's packing." Tony said allowed.

"Where's your suit, Stark?" Clint asked. He held his gun in front of him but remain crouched in his position.

"In the car. It's a mall. I didn't want to make a scene."

"We got to get out of this." Bruce pointed out.

Clint nodded. "How you feeling, Bruce?"

"If you're asking if I feel a little green, the answer is no. Inconvenienced and a little hungry now, but no."

"Ok, I'll take point. They stopped shooting for a minute. Tony you take rear, side arms on my ankle, can you reach it?"

Someone seemed to have gotten to the bar directly across from them. From that position, a semiautomatic peaked up and began firing randomly. Clint ducked easily out of the way and when the chance appeared he sprang out of his crouch and fired a bullet through the man's hand. Tony extracted the small revolver from Clint's ankle holster and assessed it swiftly.

"Ok, you first Hawk. Keep Banner between us and get out of this death trap. Sound good?" Tony said.

"Sure, sounds fun." Banner said.

"Back exit, Tony follow my lead. Your right. Ready Doctor? One, two," At three Bruce both stood and ducked. He untied his legs from the table stand and squeezed against Clint's back and Tony popped up behind Banner. They ran parallel to the bar, heading back toward the dish wash station and kitchen. The gunman behind the bar had a friend who peaked around the corner directly in front of them with a beretta. Clint fired one round, taking out that man's hand as well.

They pressed forward in a perfectly cluttered line. Six more men were pouring through the front door. The back exit was ten feet forward, twelve feet to the right around a blind corner, and then left toward the restrooms if the signs and emergency lighting were to be believed.

The sounds of gunshots and the purposeful movement kept Clint from focusing on the other human element of the restaurant, and that being everyone else in the building while they were eating. The cooks, waitresses, and fellow patrons were all in a varied state of shock, horror, and animalistic fear. Screams erupted as often as the guns fired. From around the first corner a man who had been sitting with his two older sons, suddenly crashed into Clint and the group. For that moment the tight barricade was broken, and another shooter followed after the man. Clint was caught off guard and off balance, but worse he wasn't even being aimed for.

With grim determination, the man leveled his gun for Bruce Banner. Like an assassin set to his task, the masked man squeezed the trigger.

But Clint had recovered his balance and grabbed the gun away. Two shots went off in close succession. Someone sneaked up at their back, but Tony gunned him down. Clint and the first man grappled. The gun went off again and for a brief moment, Clint was terrified that Bruce was hit. Blood splattered the wall and carpets and finally the gunman went down. Tony turned and fired a shot into the man's leg to make sure he stayed down.

"Kitchen!" Bruce suggested. The three moved forward and to the side before ducking into the inward-swinging door. They barricaded the entry behind them.

* * *

The kitchen was sweltering. Various stove tops smoked into the ceiling vents, untended by the cooks huddled behind the long sous bar that split the room into two aisles. Someone behind Tony came at him with a fry pan. Fortunately the dishwasher was short enough to catch little more than Tony's shoulder. At that, the assault was a weak attempt at battery.

Toy spun around. "Really?!" he snarled. "**Iron Man**. Do you somehow _not_ recognize that?"

"Banner, don't freak out." Clint said.

Bruce threw his hands in the air. "I am not freaking out. Now I am really hungry and a little upset about missing lunch."

"Hey, is this our order?" Tony asked the staff member, pointing out a tray of familiar looking food.

Something behind Clint fell over and shattered on the red brick flooring. Clint wobbled on his feet. He grabbed the handle of a walk in fridge. "Bruce. I really need you . . . to not freak out."

Now the doctor turned to him. "Clint, I told you I am perfectly— Oh my God, Clint!"

The hand on the fridge wasn't enough to keep Clint on his feet. He sunk sideways, cushioned by Bruce's hands guiding him down.

"Relax." Clint told him repeatedly. His fingers laced over the gunshot wound erupting from his chest. "Bruce, relax. I need you . . . I need you to calm down."

Clint's words were having some effect. The adrenaline of being shot at, running for his life, and now seeing his friend bleeding profusely was almost enough to tip Banner right over the green edge. Before he could think of helping Clint he had to take a step back. He shifted on his feet, restraining that all-too-feral animal threatening to burst from his skin. Tony's voice was a distant buzz in his ear, adding to the frantic pleas from Barton on the floor. Somehow Bruce was finding calm. That cliff he stepped up to and attempted to dive off was receding. One carefully placed foot at a time he walked back into himself and emerged from his haze of rage a few moments later as Bruce Banner again.

Clint was leaning on the floor with his elbows supporting his weight. His chest was flailing with each sucked in breath. Outside the gunshots began to pepper the barricaded door.

Bruce grabbed a towel from the shelf over Clint's head. Another one he tossed over to Tony.

"See if there is a steam dish cleaner here and put that in it. I need foil." Bruce instructed as if nothing ever occurred.

Tony wasn't about to bring up the potential disaster at a time like this. So he shoved the towel in the dishwasher's hands after extracting the frying pan from it.

"Make yourself useful! Get that thing steamed, one of our Avengers is bleeding to death. Where's the foil wrap in this kitchen?"

The situation was proving a little too much for the simple kitchen help. He stood there, holding the towel in his hands while staring glazy-eyed at the three Avengers. It was difficult to tell whether he would begin crying or jumping for joy. Under different circumstances, Tony could assume which.

He grabbed the towel back and stalked up and down the aisle to find the rest of the hiding kitchen help. Along the way he came across a long green box of foil and he slid that to Banner while he continued to search out someone who would be helpful.

* * *

this is the part where you love me so much, that you review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Red Birds**

_The Final Chapter_

Clint remained on his elbows, unwilling to lay completely on the floor. His head tilted back until the top of it grazed the brick. The gurgling whistle of his flesh floating up and down with every breath was making him sick. His hand held the towel Banner gave him to the side of his chest for now, and it helped him breathe a little easier.

Bodies slammed against the door at his feet. Given a half-ton freezer was now pushed on its side in front of the door, Clint felt it unlikely they would be interrupted by the gun-toting yahoos before Banner finished patching him up.

"You . . . ever done this . . . before?" Hawkeye asked, resembling a genuine curiosity.

"Not really, but I saw a video about it on Youtube a few weeks ago."

"Wha—"

"Move that hand."

Bruce pulled Clint's hand and the towel away and replaced them with a long strip of tin foil. This he slapped over the broken hole in Clint's chest and pressed it into position with his fingers.

"Clint, did you really just take a bullet for me?" Bruce asked.

"Are we really talking about this now?"

"Well I want to know if I should give you a thank you card or something."

"Bruce, just stop the bleeding and let's get the Hell out of here."

Bruce shrugged and reached up on the counter to fish around for a roll of tape. He found a round of white scotch tape and stooped back down with it in his hand. He taped down three sides of the tin foil covering.

"Tony, where's my towel?"

Stark returned with the item in hand, shaking his hands with the heat coming off the article. He passed it delicately to Bruce who shook it in the air a few times to cool it down before folding it into a pad and pressing it against Clint's chest.

"Who's got a belt on?" Bruce asked.

Tony tapped his pants but came up without one. Given that Clint's shirt was already pulled up to his neck, his lack of a belt was evident. Behind Tony three or four kitchen workers were standing around like frightened deer. A few of them were wearing aprons, which worked perfectly for Banner. He pointed to the apron and one man removed it and handed the garment over. There was a knife attached to the magnetic strip beside the cutting board which Banner grabbed to tear the strings off. He retied the ends, wrapped them over Clint's chest, and knotted the string over his wound.

"You done?" Clint asked.

"For now, lay on your side and relax for a sec till we figure out what we're going to do now."

Clint followed his instruction. He'd done this before with other men gunned down in the field. He didn't realize that they were in just this amount of pain, however, and for everyone's sake he was doing his best to hide that fact.

An unexplainable relationship had been struck between the archer and Bruce's alter ego. Just as important as keeping Banner himself intact, making him truly believe that Clint would be fine was another pointed edge in this whole rouse. If the Hulk got wind that Clint was in mortal danger then there was no keeping that green monster in no matter what they tried. A token to Bruce's nerves was his eying out the tray of lunch Tony pointed out earlier. With zero reserve, he began digging into a few handfuls of fries.

"Get those ovens turned off before you smoke us to death in here," Tony instructed the workers. "Unless they've got chainsaws, then those guys aren't getting through that door, so just get the kitchen squared away not to kill us. Bruce what the—hey, leave some for me!"

Bruce continued grilling through his handful of potato sticks. "Hey, I am stress eating right now. Do not interrupt my stress eating."

Tony's eyebrows arched. His words came out very slowly. "Are you stressed?"

Bruce was going to give him a speedy answer with sharp words he may one day regret, but a glance at his hands stopped him. "Crap." He growled. They were covered in arterial blood. He cursed under his breath in a strange language before searching out a sink to wash his hands in.

As he moved away, Tony bent down beside Clint.

"How you doing?" he asked, worriedly. He indicated the packing around his chest. "Getting to be a real track mat for scars there."

Clint had his teeth gritted. He carefully chewed the inside of his lip, he didn't know how hard he was at that until he could taste blood. It took a hand on his shoulder and Tony to repeat himself for Clint to respond.

"Good. Well, shot in the chest. Banner?"

Bruce let the water run at the sink. He was holding onto the edge of the basin with a steely grip.

"Getting worried there." Tony admitted. "We need to get out of here. There's an exit behind the dish racks there, but there's about half a ton of crap in front of it. Don't understand why, but the chef's thought it was a smart idea to seal off the back in case the bad guys broke through to get them."

"Move it?" Clint asked.

"Working that out now. There's two cooks a dishwasher and one of the waitresses left in here. The dishwasher's catatonic and the waitress probably wants to avoid breaking a nail, or get in my pants. I haven't decided which. Can I tell you what I prefer?"

Clint tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but wasn't voicing aloud. Bruce was losing touch. He was a claustrophobic sort, so keeping him couped up in this place would not end well. If he had to sit next to Clint any longer watching him bleed out, the Hulk would be busting them an exit. Then there were the gunman just outside the flimsy kitchen door. It sounded like one of them had retrieved a fire ax and by the splintering wood, it was obvious he'd be coming through that door one way or another. Trapped Hulk. Armed gunman. Bleeding Clint.

"Recipe for disaster." Barton groaned.

"Can you sit up?" Tony asked, "It may make Bruce you know, think it's a little less serious."

Clint swallowed, but nodded his head. Tony helped him sit against the row of stainless steel cabinets. He knew the instant he moved, that it was a bad idea. His head swam sideways, a groan he couldn't stifle pulled from his gritted teeth. Bruce turned on them.

"Clint—"

"He's fine." Tony assured. Well, lied. "He said he's feeling a bit better. Might be able to move in another minute or two. Help us get that back door cleared. Right?"

Clint flipped a smile. "Sure thing. It's cool, Bruce."

If Banner thought they were feeding him a line, he didn't mention it. Some of the tension edging into his shoulders dropped away and his face smoothed into a mask of calm. His skin seemed a little colored, but not yet of a concerning degree. No one noticed how his arms had become buff and taught beneath his sleeves of the hardening of his chest into a chiseled fact, everything they could see was rather like the old Bruce Banner. This half-Hulk in hiding was safe for now.

"I'll check on that back door. Take a walk, Bruce?" Tony asked.

Bruce waved him a no and went back to the plate of fried food. He picked himself out a fish finger as Tony went to help clear the emergency exit.

"Hungry?" Bruce offered Clint.

The gunshot man offered a weak grin. "Plannin' to feed me a cheeseburger?"

"Do you want me to feed you a cheeseburger?"

"No, but thanks."

Tony peaked around the corner where all the sounds of men, shattering plates, and toppled metal racks was erupting from. "Bruce, give a hand here?"

Bruce went over without reservation.

"Hey, Hawk, you getting up to help too? Or you just going to sit there like a fish?"

"Be there in a sec. Give me a chance to stand." Clint lied.

Banner disappeared around the corner and Clint took the opportunity loneliness gave him to collapse against the floor. He held a hand against his bleeding chest and gasped. Fish was the perfect word for Tony to use. Clint felt like a guppy out of water. It was getting harder and harder to pretend he was just fine. Sitting up was probably the worst decision he made. Standing? Well that would come at some point. Right now was as good a time as any given he could do it on his own terms and take as long as he needed to get up.

Suddenly the background noise of ax chipping at wood became a high pitched smash of ax biting into the back of the refrigerator. The gunmen were still outside, and now they'd broken into the kitchen door. Gunfire erupted all over again. Some directed inside. It was high power, strong enough to go through the back of the fridge and through the front. Clint rolled onto his stomach and held his hands over his head in attempt at keeping any ricochets from pummeling through his brain. Elbow over elbow he crawled toward the back exit, dragging his bleeding chest across the filthy kitchen floor.

Not all the bullets he could hear flinging around were coming through the door. Some were directed away, into the restaurant proper. Either mall security was heeled with a set of Russian Beretta's or Natasha Romanov did not forget to bring her own set of metal muscle to the mall today. Clint's relief at the idea of the latter was nearly palpable.

"Stark!" Clint screamed. He'd made it to the end of the sous prep table along one kitchen aisle but there were small odds of him making the turn and getting to wherever this hidden back exit was.

He panted, rolling to his back and gripping his chest. There was a large enough window in the decimated door now that strong hands were rocking the massive fridge forward. Any moment and the blockage would topple over and they would be through.

"Stark! Tony, help!"

Something metal crashed to a floor. At first Clint thought it was the fridge, but one look told him that was still in place. He wasn't sure that over all the racket Tony and Bruce were making that anyone could hear him crying from the floor. He had to get himself up.

Clint grabbed the edge of a table bottom and the knobs to a stove. Between them he pulled himself to a shaky vertical position. He made it to his knees first, waited a minute there to let his body adjust and gasp. Then up again he went.

The massive fridge shifted and rocked. Clint made it to his feet as at last it fell face forward. The hole in the door was considerable. Men on the other side were reloading guns as the muscle moved out of the way. Clint grabbed the end of a butcher block table and dragged himself along. He felt the towel Banner strapped to his chest shift as the seal for his shot through lungs began to peel open more. Moving was like dying. But he had to move.

The guns reloaded. Clint turned with his own 9mm and scatter fired through the hole, hoping to drop the more influential of the group. Regardless of barely aiming, he knew training wouldn't allow for much of a miss. At least two men fell out of sight.

The gunshots didn't follow until he was already out of range.

He turned the corner at the end of the right hand aisle. The room was a well of chaos with pans and dishes strewn at every step. Tony and Banner were making short work of disassembling the barricade the uninformed workers had deemed a good idea.

"Ba—Bruce?" Clint said weakly. He leaned back on a tall rack full of rolls and pastries. His chest seal had opened around the sides, making it relatively ineffective now. He tried to pat it back with his fingers, but he felt too numb to make any real attempt to fix it.

Banner turned to him. The door was nearly clear now. "Clint!" he exclaimed.

Frantic kitchen staff rushed to take up his slack as Banner made to go to Clint. It was obvious the doctor was barely holding together. He was drenched in sweat. His glasses were in Tony's pocket to avoid destroying them should he change. His skin was noticeably green now and tight rolls of muscles gave him more the appearance of a weight lifter then a forty-year-old scientist.

"No, Bruce, you help, I got it." Tony stopped him dead. Iron Man too was covered in sweat, but nothing like that of Bruce. Given the current physique of the two, Bruce was likely to get them out faster than Tony could. Bruce conceded, though it was obvious he wanted to refuse.

"How you doin? Better? I thought so. Figured it wouldn't keep you down long either. How's the pain? Not bad? Even better. Here, let me retie that a little tighter. Not a lot of bleeding, huh?" Tony spoke automatically. His voice was a reflection of the truth. Opposite in every way possible. He could see Clint was in it deep. How the guy got himself up at all was a mystery, but he kept his chipper voice high for Banner's sake.

"Tony, they're through." Clint whispered to him. He gasped, swallowing hard as Tony crushed the bandage over his chest. For a moment Barton went light headed and fell forward. Tony grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him upright.

"Easy!" Tony hissed. He whispered hurriedly. The exit was almost open. The chefs worked rapidly to yank the door back and open. "Come one, Clint, we're getting out of here, all right? I promise. You're going to be fine."

Tony hauled Clint up by his waist. Clint's arm draped of Tony's neck as they stood again. From their new position, Tony could feel the terrible pulling of Clint's chest to drag in and push out every breath.

"We'll be ok." Tony whispered to him. "I've got you, now. We're going to be fine."

The door came open with a mighty slam from Banner's grip. The hinges pulled free and suddenly half the door was hanging off. The kitchen staff rushed out into the back alley of the mall. Bruce held the entry way swinging for Tony and Clint to get by.

"Tony, is he ok? He's looking pale, is he breathing ok?"

"'mm fine." Clint lied for himself. "'s ok, Bruce, 'm fine."

"He's bleeding too much, Tony stop a sec, I need to look at that."

They slowed to a stop. It wouldn't be long before the hall would be flooded with whatever gunman Clint and Natasha didn't kill off. They didn't have time for a long pause.

Under Banner's direct scrutiny the rouse of being all well and dandy was shot to hell.

"Clint? Clint can you still hear me?" Banner tilted Hawkeye's head back, searching for life in his half closed eyes.

"Bruce—"

Tony's much reserved personal concern was falling to pieces. He was supposed to stay strong, keep Bruce calm, but seeing Clint bleeding and gasping to death in his arms was killing him inside. Why couldn't they be placating him instead? Why did he have to be the strong one?

Bruce pulled the towel away. Clint must have damaged an artery. That was the only explanation. They hadn't notice the amount of blood before as most likely it was flowing internally. Bruce tapped a few places below the wound. Listening, feeling, for the hemothorax he assumed he'd find.

Bingo.

Banner cursed again, his hands shaking. His eyes had turned to a fierce sort of darkness that frightened Tony. They were approaching that breaking point.

Gunshots.

Tony had been holding Clint up for inspection, but he now found himself sprawling sideways. An explosion of pain shattered his shoulder and collar bone. He fell against a wall, still struggling to keep Clint in his arms.

The ever present, ever following gunshots traced them to the alleyway. Cut in the back of several store fronts, the employee access way and pick/up drop/off delivery point was soon full of armed gunman. Tony crumbled in his wave of pain and blood. Without choice Clint hit the ground beside them.

Now there was no placating the beast within. Bruce Banner was no more. There was only the cold, calculating, fury that came with the Incredible Hulk himself. Banner pulled his shirt free. He strode forward, losing first one shoe then another. He still looked like Bruce Banner, although an ultra-buff one. He was on top of the first gunman before the man had courage enough to even raise his fire arm. So Bruce did it for him. He picked up the man's gun, still firm in the assailant's hands and aimed the bullet for the center of his forehead.

A guttural, otherworldly voice crawled from his throat. He snarled in the man's face.

"DO IT."

The trigger pulled and all at once there was a blur of green and flash of shredded clothing. The Hulk crushed the gunman's body into the floor then stepped forward and went for the next. He roared in his delight at uncaged freedom. Bruce Banner had finally let go of his reigns and let the monster free.

From the floor up the hallway of what would soon be the shattered remains of one Red Robbin, Clint and Tony lay in a bloody heap.

"He's gonna be mad at himself after this." Tony took a while to make out.

"He can . . .borrow . . .my new clothes." Clint replied.

"I just got this jacket." Tony complained.

"It was free."

"It's the principle of the thing."

To that Clint couldn't reply. Partly because he was consumed in his failing need to breathe. Beside him, Tony was really no better off than he was. His shattered collar bone was most likely splintering through the top of his lung.

When Natasha Romanov at last ducked around the fury of the Hulk, a beast with whom she never really found a kinship with (at least not enough to prevent him trying to murder her some days) she at first came across the carnage of Tony and Clint.

Hurried words exchanged. Pepper was getting the police. Someone called Steve, he was already here. Thor was inside, calming Bruce down before he took out the rest of the mall. The Hulk wasn't in a "gaming" mood, and therefore took off into the parking lot. Currently Thor and he were out there now duking it out. General someone. Grudge against Bruce for years, had been searching him out in order to expose the Hulk as a monster and man killer. Had to stop Bruce before it was too late to convince the world otherwise. What was broken? Who was worse? Could she do anything now? Call the ambulance. Yes they can walk. Could someone please get Clint's bag so Banner had something the change into.

The far wall must have attached to the parking lot, as the minute Natasha had Clint up and moving again, Thor sailed through the wall and passed by them. A raging Hulk followed him through the hole, planning most likely on continuing the bout against his most level warrior when he saw the bleeding duo and remembered again why he was so mad to begin with.

"Hey big . . guy." Clint gasped, fearlessly patting the Hulk's leg. "Enjoying breaking Th-Thor?"

The Hulk roared, pounding a fist into his chest triumphantly.

"That's good."

"Gun smash." The Hulk told him, a greedy smile on his lips.

Clint smiled back at him. "Yeah, good job."

Thor picked himself up from the mall fountain and made a stomping way back to them with Mjolnir swinging in his hands. Seeing him coming revved for round two, Natasha frantically waved him back. If anyone could get the Hulk calmed down it was Clint.

"Need a Doc, myself." Clint told him. "You don't but . . . Tony and I aren't too . . . too hot. You know?"

This seemed to disturb the big green guy. "Bruce." He said.

"Bruce did good. Could have a . . .break. But, I got, I got to get you know."

The Hulk nodded understandingly. "Hospital."

"That's right."

The Hulk looked back through the parking lot hole. It was difficult to know what went rolling through his brain sometimes, but it seemed to be working out the fact that there were ambulances out there and doctors inside of them. He was a strong guy too, he could always walk Clint to the nearest hospital. It wouldn't take him long. Less time than an ambulance. All of these were tumbling thoughts through his brain that the others rarely got a look into.

In the end he leveled a callous look at Natasha. "Give." He said with decided emphasis on Clint.

"What, no me?" Tony joked, as if he had the same leeway with the big guy Clint liked to entertain.

"No."

"Well, fine."

Natasha may for a moment felt enough of a possession of Clint to ignore the Hulk's request. But it was a fleeting moment. No one denied the green guy anything he truly requested.

So over Clint was handed, with little ado. At first the Hulk wasn't very gentle about grabbing him up, but at Clint's obvious declaration of pain tactics were altered. In one massive hand he cradled Clint's body like an infant, to his chest. It was unclear to everyone what the step was from here, but they trusted the Hulk, in some ways, to do the correct thing when it came to someone he truly liked. It was fortunate that Clint held just such a distinction.

With his cargo in tow, and the others decidedly abandoned to their own devices, Clint and the Hulk left.

Thor came from around the corner. His face was full of worry for his friends, Mjolnir remained in his hands for ready use.

"Metal Man, you have been injured?"

Tony nodded at him, feeling weak again.

"The best to you. Our leader comes, and his hand may be set to bring you to aid. Forgive my absences, I will follow our changed friend, the doctor, and where he may go with Clint of Barton."

"That's a good idea, Thor, go on. But don't let Hulk see you, it may be more of a distraction than help." Natasha told him.

Thor accepted the advice and headed out after the Hulk.

* * *

There was a moment of confusion and fear when Tony arrived at the hospital strapped to a gurney. He was asking for Clint, to see how his fellow Avenger made out with the trip over. But Clint never arrived. Steve, Natasha, and Pepper, ushered out of Tony's exam room for his trip to emergency surgery had the time now afforded to them to track down where on earth Hulk could have taken Clint. Suddenly their decision to let them go off together seemed like just about the worst choice they could have made.

Pepper was the first to the local hospital listings. She called around to the nearest local ERs only to get the same troubled answer. No one by the name of Clint Barton had arrived, no John Does with gunshot wounds to the chest either. They expanded their search to the outskirts of Manhattan and New York proper. While it seemed unlikely the Hulk would have gone that far out of the way, the possibility existed. At New York General she came up with one possible case. But the gentleman was nearly in his forties, which did not describe Clint.

While Pepper continued the hospital route, Steve tried the Thor one. He grabbed his cellular phone and dialed as Tony had instructed both he and Thor too. If Thor happened to be carrying his own device, then this should be a simple track down.

When a voice did come on the other line, the person was fading in and out. The line crackled incessantly and Steve found himself kicked outside to better scream at the person.

Evidently it was in fact Thor. The connection was bad seeing that he was oversees. A grand many thousand miles away in fact. Apparently the Hulk (or Bruce Banner more like) had a particular specialist in mind when he left the mall. This specialist was to be located in northern Calcutta, and the Hulk was going to tolerate no other treating his friend then this man.

After arrival, Bruce promptly returned to himself and was grateful to have Thor along for assistance. Steve was given a number to the hospital itself and a general location. After which he bid the others well and hung up the phone.

He entered the hospital waiting room, delighting somewhat in the look on the others faces when they realized just to what lengths the Hulk had gone.

"Wow." Natasha said simply. "Well, I'll get in touch with SHIELD, have them send a pick up team over to keep an eye on them."

"That didn't take him very long, did it?" Pepper added. "How in the world did Dr. Banner do it?"

Steve grinned. "Dr. Banner didn't have much of a choice. And they must have been going pretty fast I imagine."

* * *

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